By the Light of the Campfire
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: As the Rawhides celebrate their graduation from boot camp, Beach Head muses on each of them and starts to have his suspicions regarding a certain recruit.


Over at the campfire, the newly inducted Joes were laughing and whooping, celebrating their graduation from boot camp. A distance away, Beach Head sat alone, every so often looking over at the former Rawhides with disapproval. If they were in hostile territory, all of their ruckus would give away their position in an instant and just about serve them up on a silver platter to the enemy.

Shaking his head, Beach Head continued to shovel cold beans from a can into his mouth. Once he grudgingly admitted that they'd passed their training to be in the Joes, the group had dissolved into cheers. Much to Beach Head's disgust, Bombstrike had actually whipped out the ingredients for s'mores, which she'd somehow stowed away in her rucksack. Now all of them sat around the campfire, toasting marshmallows like they were at some summer camp. Beach Head almost expected one them of them to whip out a guitar and break into "Kumbaya."

Slouching further down on the large rock that served as his seat, Beach Head contemplated this latest batch of rookies. Today marked the first time in years all of the Rawhides had managed to graduate, even if Beach Head had been sure at least two of them would wash out.

The two who he'd had the most faith in— well, the least doubts about, anyway— were Kim Arashikage and Christopher Lavigne, now respectively "Jinx" and "Law." The former was a ninja who had been trained by Snake Eyes, which alone was an indication of formidable talent. The latter was a MP who was the oldest of this group of recruits, though still fairly young for his position. His decent amount of experience signalled that he was a serious candidate. The two could've passed or they could have washed out; Beach Head wouldn't have been surprised either way.

Then there was Alyssa Stall, sister of the Joe Barrel Roll. Initially, Beach Head dismissed her as a prospective Joe, certain the only reason she signed onto the program was to compete with her older brother. A freckle-faced youngster hailing from Rhode Island, her enthusiasm and eagerness to please couldn't quite cover the hints of insecurity seeping from the cracks in her sunny disposition.

In the first few days of camp, Beach Head had hawkishly watched Stall for signs of faltering, confident she would be the first to call it quits. Stall wasn't cut out to be a soldier, he was sure. She wasn't tough enough, wasn't aggressive enough. But gradually, she proved him mistaken. She endured the ten mile runs each morning without complaint and suffered through the obstacle course with few signs of uncertainty. Only her face ever gave indication she was out of her depth, an occasional expression of dismay or panic clouding her typically good-natured face.

But most of the time, Stall remained staunchly determined, her short strawberry blonde hair, barely long enough for its ponytail, tied back and her jaw set. Every time Beach Head thought she would quit, she didn't, until he was forced to accept that she had stronger resolve than he gave her credit for. Now called "Bombstrike," the grin hadn't left her face since Beach Head had announced to the lot of them that, by some miracle of God, they were now Joes.

And Nicky Lee, born and raised in Brooklyn with the accent to prove it, had a host of skills ranging from wilderness survival to field medicine. Nevertheless, his demeanor wasn't becoming of a soldier, too laidback and flippant. While Beach Head was willing to concede that Lee was not a slacker entirely, it frustrated him to no end that Lee didn't go above and beyond after completing his share, that he only did what was required of him and nothing more.

But what brought Beach Head the most irritation of all was that Lee didn't take him seriously. While never crossing the line to insubordination, Lee seemed disinterested at best when Beach Head took him to task, and easily shrugged off even the most vociferous of his reprimands.

Beach Head harrumphed out loud. Either he was losing his edge, or the Joes were scraping at the bottom of the barrel with these recruits. He hated the idea of either.

Still, much as Beach Head resented admitting it, Lee's stealth and infiltration abilities were impressive. In fact, it was his talent for using the available terrain to his advantage and penchant for crawling through small spaces that had earned him the codename of "Tunnel Rat."

Another candidate, one that Beach Head had doubts about from the moment he saw the profile, was Brittany Van Mark, corporate heiress and socialite. The picture in her file depicted her smiling sweetly for the camera, wearing a headband in her blonde hair that perfectly matched her lace blouse. Honestly, Beach Head couldn't help but wonder if she'd been trying to send in an application for a beauty contest that was instead mistakenly delivered to GI Joe. Yeah, the girl might have been a knockout, but looks didn't account for a thing when slogging through the jungle or conducting recon in the desert.

But the moment she stepped off the bus, he'd known there was more to Van Mark than met the eye. A quiet confidence was apparent in her fluid movements, and steely grit and cynicism glinted in her gaze from the first time she and Beach Head met eyes. From the initial day and on, she proved herself not only a qualified fighter, but a capable leader. While Beach Head still wondered just what the hell a high society debutante was doing signing on with the Joes, there could be no denying that Van Mark, now "Blitzkrieg," would be a valuable asset to the squadron.

However, the Rawhide who Beach Head regarded with the most skepticism, from the moment he'd glanced at his file, throughout every day of camp, right up till now, was none other than Vincent Falcone.

Overall, nothing about the kid was particularly impressive to Beach Head. He was of wiry build, with long, coltish legs and lean but obvious muscle. Too thin, as if square meals were hard to come by— could pass as a junkie, easy. In terms of looks, the kid was distinct, the pretty boy-type of handsome. Sleek black hair and fair skin with fine features. In other words, just the type to use a bunch of cosmetic treatments that, when entering hostile territory, would be a dead giveaway to enemy trackers. In general, the kid looked like he could have just walked out of a pop teen idol's music video, and about gave the impression of being just as suited for military life as one of them.

Too young to even legally drink, with a file that was next to useless due to the high volume of classified information that was blacked out, Beach Head was flummoxed as to why the Joes would even bother with Falcone. Hell, once he'd finished scoffing at what little of the file was available to him, he'd barged into Duke's office, demanding answers to that very question.

However, while providing no explanation as to why Falcone's candidacy was so much as being considered, Duke remained infuriatingly calm and stood resolute, adamant that Falcone be permitted to attend training. And when Beach Head went to Hawk to find out why it was necessary to waste time on an obvious no-go like Falcone, Duke materialized and blocked him again, unyielding in his position that Falcone be given the chance to test his skills. Why Duke cared at all, though, was anyone's guess.

 _Skills._ Beach Head snorted, tossing a glance over at the kid in question as he relaxed in front of the campfire with the other rookies.

What really peeved him about Falcone was that Duke had been proven right: this kid was _good_. Any challenge Beach Head threw at him was met, any task achieved, any demands answered. And yet Beach Head couldn't shake the feeling that something was just _off_ about this kid. Falcone deliberately held back in training, he was sure of it, being careful to succeed but never exceed. Whereas the other Rawhides emerged with specific talents that marked them individually, Falcone seemed content to let himself fade into the background. He was wasting his potential, which was worst than a felony in Beach Head's book.

Though Beach Head found the behavior as mystifying as he did irksome, he bit his tongue to avoid letting Falcone know he had caught on. Between Duke's endorsement of him and the kid's own actions, Beach Head was curious about what made the kid tick, loathe as he was to admit it.

As far as attitude went, the kid was inoffensive, but there was an intangible aspect about his demeanor that was disquieting. The kid acted like the Miss Mary Sunshine type, always offering to help those around him, never becoming upset or angry when his teammates slowed him down, always doing his best to resolve whatever issue was at hand. The sheer _niceness_ of how he acted could be downright nauseating at times, in Beach Head's opinion. Hell, he didn't think he'd ever even seen the kid show the slightest hint of temper— Beach Head wouldn't be surprised to find out this kid had spent more time in charm school than the military.

Maybe that was the problem: the kid was too good to be true. Ace soldier with good looks and perfect control of his emotions at all times? No one was quite that flawless; there had to be drawbacks there somewhere. Yet here was Falcone, trying his damndest to force the idea that yes, he was really was just that brilliant. _Force_. If Beach Head were to try to put his finger on the issue, _force_ would the crux of it.

After spending as much time as he did observing Falcone, he could say that Falcone's pleasant demeanor seemed overly cultivated, calculated, as if it were unnatural, as if it were some kind of ploy.

Bombstrike accidentally tripped him on the obstacle course? All that left Falcon's mouth were assurances to Bombstrike that he was fine, that he knew it was an accident, even if there had been was a moment immediately after when Falcone seemed to be completely vexed.

If Tunnel Rat knocked over the bucket of water Falcone dragged back from the river, up the hill to their camp? Irritation flashed across Falcone's face but was gone in an instant, because he was smiling and telling Tunnel Rat he didn't mind going to the river again. It was "fine, just fine," because Falcon knew Tunnel Rat would never deliberately act careless.

When Jinx stumbled into Falcone, resulting in his dinner sliding off of his plate into the campfire? That was perfectly all right, because Falcon "wasn't all that hungry, anyway." Never mind that Beach Head heard the kid's stomach growling loudly throughout the entire time he supervised Falcone's cleanup duty, and there were several spots where the kid's face looked well and truly pissed.

Just the slightest yet continued indications that Falcon's amiability was reaction formation rather than legitimate nature.

Given the practiced manner with which Falcone suppressed any unflattering traits, Beach Head couldn't rightly recognize just what the kid's motives were. But he seemed like he was hiding something, struggling to maintain a cover. There was this look in his eyes that the smile on his face couldn't quite belie, a constant vigilance. A wariness that suggested he'd been to a dark place and had never quite managed to escape back into the light. All in all, it was Falcone's lack of genuity, the discrepancies between what he said and what his body language actually indicated, that led Beach Head to harbor a strong mistrust of him.

But those were just Beach Head's feelings; he had no concrete evidence to support his suspicions about Falcone, vague as they were. Thus, Falcone became the GI Joe known as "Falcon."

Movement over at the campfire: Falcon rose, maneuvered his way around his fellow rookies, and started toward Beach Head.

Hidden beneath his balaclava, Beach Head's eyebrows shot up. Well, as the saying went, speak of the devil and he would appear.

"You want something, rookie?" Beach Head growled as Falcon settled himself on the rock next to him.

"Just thought I'd make sure you get to be a part of our celebration," Falcon said calmly, turning sideways to face Beach Head and offering him an aluminum plate with two picture perfect smores. "After all, our graduation is your victory, too."

"How's that?" Beach Head questioned incredulously, training an unwavering gaze on the kid and ignoring the proffered confections.

The indications of discomfort from from Falcon were barely noticeable, but as a practiced scholar in body language, Beach Head picked up on them instantly. He shifted away just the slightest amount, reflexively drawing his head back less than a centimeter. One of his fingers twitched, as if desperate for some sort of action, some kind of motion that could serve as an excuse to get away, but was quickly quelled. And that eternal wariness flickered in his eyes, even as his mouth formed a smile that could be on the cover of a magazine.

He didn't like being the center of attention, Beach Head realized. Falcon was fine as part of a group, but didn't like being the subject of individual focus, hence his deliberate attempts not to stand out during training.

"You were the one who coached and led us," Falcon said smoothly, his casual tone giving no sign that he was anything but composed. Even while suspicious, Beach Head was willing to give that the kid generally did a good job of keeping his cool.

"We were just following your instructions, and listening to the feedback you gave us," Falcon went on, that damn toothpaste ad smile still on his face. "Without you here to take a chance on us, we wouldn't have been able to graduate."

Inwardly, Beach Head snorted. _Feedback._ That was the most diplomatic description of his bellowed insults and barrages of shouted criticisms that he'd ever heard. Geez, this kid really was from a charm school. Just what the hell did Duke want this kid for, anyway?

Well, since Duke wasn't here to badger, the kid would do just fine.

"Well, I guess Duke will be glad to hear that you made it into the Joes," Beach Head remarked, keeping his tone gruff but conversational.

For a moment, Falcon seemed taken aback. "Duke?"

Beach Head scoffed. "You know, the field leader of the Joes? Second in command of the entire organization, just beneath General Hawk?"

"Oh. Right." Emotion glimmered in Falcon's malachite green eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Beach Head to read, leaving him unsure if Falcon's confusion was feigned or not. "I can only hope that our commanders will be pleased with our entire group of new Joes," Falcon offered neutrally.

Beach Head could barely refrain from rolling his eyes at the response. Good Lord, this kid missed his calling as some corporate kiss-ass. Or, at least, pretending to be one. Still, he decided to give one last shot at uncovering Duke's investment in Falcon.

"Any idea what you'll be doing once we return to HQ?" He jerked his head toward the group around the campfire. "Seems that everyone else already has some sort of niche carved out for themselves." Maybe, Beach Head theorized, Duke or Hawk wanted Falcon for a particular mission or task. But honestly, even then, there had to be more qualified and experienced personnel out there.

Again, Beach Head received only a placid smile and a bland response. "I have every faith that my commanders will find the best use for my talents and abilities. Actually, I expect your input in that area would be indefinitely valuable, Sergeant. After all, you're the commanding officer who knows me the best, as of now"

This time, Beach Head wasn't able to hold back a huff of disgust. Never before had he met a person who was as reluctant to show a single shred of personality as Falcon. Christ, the kid seemed more like a robot than a human.

"Go to bed, rookie," Beach Head ordered him, rising from his seat and starting toward the campfire to tell the others the same. "We leave at dawn tomorrow morning."

Whatever Falcon's deal was, Beach Head couldn't discern. Not yet, anyway. But he would know, Beach Head resolved, as he began giving instructions to the other rookies. From now on, it would be his primary goal to unearth Falcon's connections to Duke, the classified sections of his file, and all the rest of the secrets the kid was trying his damnedest to hide.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm aware that in the movie, Falcon had blue eyes, but he (sometimes) has green eyes in the comics, so that's what I'm going with.

Brittany Van Mark was millionaire's daughter who fell in love with Lifeline in the cartoon episode "Million Dollar Medic." She was not ever a member of GI Joe, but I thought it would be interesting to add her.


End file.
